


Push and Pull: A Collection

by orphan_account



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Because I don't want to clog up the MinKey tag with every individual thing I write, I've decided to collect them all here.Fics that go on for more than 2 chapters will be posted as separate entities, though.





	1. Laws of Aviation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This is the first fic I'm posting here. This is a re-write of a very, very short thing I wrote ~2 years ago and posted on tumblr (under the same title, too). I'm trying to get back into writing again. 
> 
> Not beta'd, but I did try to proofread. Of course, I'm only human so there may be some typos. 
> 
> Also done entirely on mobile, so apologies if it looks wonky.
> 
> Rated T+ simply for some brief swearing.

Kibum stares down at the book cracked open in front of him. The words swirl around on the page, threatening to stick together and render any further attempts to read it moot. There's only so much he can get done when he's running off of 2 cups of coffee and a bag of organic chocolate chip cookies (which he was entirely expecting the librarian to scold him for eating around such expensive books). He's not entirely sure what made him take a class on archaic Greek poetry, and he's not entirely sure why he didn't listen to Minho when he told him that class would be boring as hell. 

He picks up his pen, ready to write down his notes, when his phone vibrates on the table, signalling a text message. He looks at it with narrowed eyes. Does he want to pick it up? If he does, he knows he's not going to get any work done for the next half an hour... ah, screw it. The school's library is open 24 hours anyway. 

He picks up the phone and looks at his lockscreen, lips quirking up in a smile at the picture of him and Minho that makes it up. However, the smile soon disappears when he sees the message's preview. 

**FROM. Minho♡:** _kibummie... i need to tell you something..._

Worried, Kibum unlocks his phone, quickly entering the messaging app. 

**TO. Minho♡:** _yeah? what is it?_

He waits and waits and waits, foot gently tapping against the soft carpet of the floor until 3 dots show up on the left side of the screen, indicating that Minho's typing. And it stays there for a while, mocking him. What the hell is Minho up to? His thumbs fly around the screen as he composes more messages.

**TO. Minho♡:** _minho?_

**TO. Minho♡:** _babe, you're worrying me._

The dots persist. More, then? 

**TO. Minho♡:** _minho!_

**TO. Minho♡:** _are you going to break up with me?_

Just typing those words out causes bitter laughter to tear itself from Kibum's throat. Some students give him a dirty look, but he doesn't care about that or how quickly he jumped to that conclusion. He knows how this goes down in the dramas that he watches. He'll end up crying in the library while Minho leaves with a suitcase of his stuff-

**FROM. Minho♡:** _According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway, because bees don't care what humans think is impossible._

No. Fucking. Way.

**FROM. Minho♡:** _Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Yellow, black. Ooh, black and yellow! Let's shake it up a little.  
_

_Barry, breakfast is ready!  
_

_Coming!_

That... that  _ass_! Getting him so worried over nothing! Minho's probably laughing it up in the apartment, slapping his knee. He shouldn't have let Minho watch that stupid movie. 

**TO. Minho♡:** _are you fucking serious. are you sending me the bee movie script?_

**FROM. Minho♡:** _Hold on a second. Hello?_

_Barry?_

_Adam?_

_Can you believe this is happening?_

_I can't! I'll pick you up._

**TO. Minho♡:** _i'm kicking your ass when i get home. just you wait choi minho._

**FROM. Minho♡:** _i love you too, kibummie~_

Minho doesn't send anything else after a while, so he puts his phone back on the table face down. Now he can start deciphering what this poem means. His pen is in his hand, fresh paper just begging to be written on, and-

_brr brr_

...This is gonna be a long night. 


	2. Instagram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Minho makes an Instagram account and accidentally likes one of Kibum's pictures from 2 years prior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am my own beta. Hope you enjoy ^^~

Minho's thumb hurts. He's been sitting here for the past hour just scrolling through Kibum's Instagram. Is it creepy? Maybe a bit, but it isn't like Kibum's Insta isn't public knowledge (hell, Kibum was the one who  _told him_  his username). He's got thousands upon thousands of followers, and Minho's sure that at least 1 of them has crawled all the way back into Kibum's timeline before.

That's what he tells himself, anyway. 

It's interesting, getting to see a glimpse into Kibum's life. There's pictures of his poodles, Comme Des and Garçons, pictures of him, pictures of him  _with_  his poodles...

He's admiring a picture of Kibum with a sheet mask on when his thumb slips. A white heart pops up in the middle of the picture and stays on the screen, as if it's mocking him, before fading out after a second or so. He holds his breath and holds it and holds it and holds it until he sees how long ago the photo was posted. 

_2 years ago_. 

He promptly unleashes that breath into the  _loudest_  scream of agony ever heard in the entirety of South Korea. 

It's too late to unlike the photo now (which is what he should've done the second he did it, he now realizes), and Kibum is  _bound_  to get the notification. 

He hears clamoring coming from his housemate's room, along with the door opening. His housemate all but runs into the living room, skidding to a stop just a few steps beyond the doorway, his orange-brown hair flying everywhere. "Oh my god, Minho! Are you okay?!" 

Jinki sounds  _so_  concerned, voice raspy from sleep. Minho feels guilty, but at the same time he wants to laugh. So all he does is put on a ridiculous pout and turn his phone screen to face the other man. 

Jinki steps closer, squinting at the screen. It's hard for him to see without his contacts. He shakes his head. "I don't understa-" then he sees the date. "Oh.  _Oh_. Wow. That's a bit of a screw up, huh?"

"He's gonna think I'm a creep," Minho huffs as he sinks further and further into the couch cushions. 

Jinki makes some weird, vague shrugging movement and shakes his head. "I mean... could be worse? You could've liked his  _first_  picture."

Just the sheer  _thought_  of liking Kibum's first post on Instagram is enough to make Minho cringe, but... "It was still _2 years ago_."

"Uh... he probably gets a lot of notifications, so he won't notice yours?" Jinki offers.

"Yeah... yeah, I guess you're right," he says. He doubts Kibum would notice that one stray notification. 

Jinki pats his shoulder, smiling at him reassuringly, if a bit sleepily. "You see, there's nothing to worry about. Now I'm going to go back to my nap. Please don't scream anymore." He staggers back to his room and Minho hears the closing of the door and the spring of a mattress. 

Then he sees a message notification at the top of his screen. They spoke too soon. It's Kibum. 

At least he muffles his yell with a pillow this time. 


	3. On The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kibum tries to strike up a conversation with Minho. Namely, a conversation about Minho himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOO BOY. This is a Dragon Age AU which I've been working on for a while (which no one asked for lol). This is actually one of the scenes... I just cut out the parts where MinKey actually interact. Thought I'd post it here because it kinda counts??? Idk. I really don't expect anyone to read this anyway. 
> 
> I am also in the process of re-writing Blue Shell because I was really dissatisfied with it. Idk when it'll be up again, but... soon. 
> 
> And if you've never played Dragon Age, that's fine! I explain all the terms at the end notes!
> 
> As always, unbeta'd and done on mobile.

“So, you’re an elf?” Kibum asks as he squats down in front of Minho, taking care not to disturb the crackling cooking fire in between them. 

Minho keeps his lips pursed into a straight line as he stirs the stew bubbling in the pot. He lifts up the ladle in there and brings it to his mouth, gently blowing on it, causing small ripples to cascade among the surface. He takes a small sip and smacks his lips together before reaching into a small pouch filled with spices and then adding a pinch more into the pot. Right as Kibum was about to say something else (probably something along the lines of an apology), Minho speaks up. “The ears gave it away, huh?”

It’s a bit sarcastic, but Kibum supposes he deserves it for asking an obvious question. Elves were, of course, known for their pointed ears. Minho’s were a bit on the larger side, however. _Probably to go along with those big eyes of his_ , Kibum muses. _Seriously. They’re huge._ “Oh, yeah. Definitely… you’re from the Circle too, aren’t you?”

Minho stiffens a bit at that question before resuming his stirring. Kibum can feel Jinki’s gaze boring holes into the back of his neck. Mages are not typically held in high regard anywhere other than the Imperium, and after the “rebellion,” it seems like their reputation has sunk even lower. Combine that with being an elf, and Minho is basically at the bottom of the social food chain. He has every right to hesitate. Kibum doesn’t expect a reply (his intentions are unknown to Minho, after all), and it’s something he’s highly suspected since he met them (he knows how bows look like, and those sticks slinged across Minho and Jinki’s backs are definitely not those, no matter how much they insist they are), but he’d at least like to know for sure.

“Would there be a problem if I was? Why don’t you ask Jinki that question?” Minho tilts his chin up towards Jinki, who seems to be crushing some elfroot in his mortar and pestle.

Kibum shakes his head. “There wouldn’t be a problem. And I’m not asking him because I’m asking _you_.” Another reason would be that Jinki intimidates him, but he doesn't need to say that out loud. 

“...Okay then.” Minho takes the ladle out of the pot and taps it a few times against the rim to get rid of any excess soup before setting it against the rocks encircling the fire. “Yes. I’m from the Circle. The same one as Jinki.”

“Kinloch?” Kibum questions. It’s one of the more obvious ones. There aren’t many Circles in Thedas, much less many in Ferelden.

Minho nods. “Nearly burned down a shop in my alienage when I was 9. Then they took me away.” It’s a basic summary, and while Kibum is itching with curiosity (mostly because _how the hell does a 9-year-old nearly burn down a shop?_ ), attempting to get Minho to spill more on his background would probably just end in Minho getting upset and Jinki probably kicking Kibum’s ass to the Anderfels. Which would be less than ideal. “Now you have to tell me about you. At least while this stew cools down,” Minho says as he takes the pot from the fire.

Kibum stays silent. He's fine talking about others or hearing about others, but himself? He's not even sure what to say. 

“Minho told you a bit about himself,” Jinki speaks up from the back. The rustling of a bag and the clinking of glasses that follow signal that Jinki’s about to start making their potions. “It’s only fair if you tell him a bit about yourself too.” Kibum knows that Jinki’s as curious as Minho. The most they know about him is his name and the fact that he gave them a portion of his beef jerky to convince them that he was not interested in running one of his daggers through them.

Kibum tilts his head back and closes his eyes, internally sighing before bringing his head back down. Jinki is right. “I was born in Val Royeaux--”

“You don’t sound Orlesian though,” Minho interrupts. “You sound like you’re from here. Ferelden.”

“Probably because my family moved to Ferelden after I was born,” Kibum says, “which you’d have known if you had let me finish.”

Minho ducks his head and his cheeks flush. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine," Kibum says quickly. "But yeah, my parents and I moved from Orlais to Ferelden. We were farmers in South Reach. Then you know. The Blight.”

Minho nods solemnly. The Blight took a lot from them. It took his alienage--his home--and it took his mother. Not to mention an abomination taking over his Circle, forcing him and Jinki to hide with a senior enchanter. He didn’t know if they were going to die from the demons or from the Right of Annulment. “Did… are your parents…?”

Kibum knows what he’s trying to ask. “They’re fine. We were able to leave before the Blight hit us. I think they're in Rivain right now." Or at least that's what he read in the letter they sent to him months ago. He doesn't know if they know that his residence has been burnt down by a particularly angry rage demon. 

“I’d like to go to Rivain someday,” Minho says wistfully. Being in the Circle, they weren’t allowed to go outside at all, bar the daily exercise sessions they had. All of Minho’s knowledge of the outside world came from maps, word of mouth, and the various books found in the Circle’s library. “I hear it’s really pretty.”

“Hard to say how pretty it is now with that thing in the sky.” Kibum gestures overhead to a bright green, nearly white, hole in the sky. Chaos has been pretty commonplace since it showed up, what with it spitting demons out and everything. “But hey, I can take you and Jinki there once it’s gone.”

Minho opens his mouth to speak, but it’s Jinki’s voice they hear. “Before we start making promises, let’s eat first.” He comes over with 2 bowls in 1 hand. “You’re gonna have to share a bowl with one of us, Kibum. I didn’t expect anyone else to join us, and I had to keep the pack light,” he says, looking sheepish. “I do have 3 spoons though.” He holds up the spoons in his other hand, looking quite pleased with himself.

“You have 3 spoons but 2 bowls?” Kibum asks.

“Spoons are lighter than bowls,” Jinki states matter-of-factly.

Minho reaches up to grab one of the bowls Jinki brought. “I’ll share with him, Jinki,” he says as he starts to ladle in some of the stew. “Come on, Kibum. Share with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realizes how much... explaining is in this lol. Dw, the next thing I post will be short and sweet. 
> 
> Also this is my favorite thing I have ever written solely for the line "Spoons are lighter than bowls." 
> 
> Here are the terms I used (whose meanings you can probably decipher, but ya know. Just in case):  
> \- Circle: academies for mages. Children showing magical ability are taken there the second they exhibit it, no matter how young they are.  
> \- Right of Annulment: an order that allows a Knight-Commander (basically the big, large, person in charge) to purge a Circle.  
> \- Thedas: continent in which this takes place.  
> \- Ferelden: basically England.  
> \- Val Royeaux: basically Paris.  
> \- Orlais: basically France.  
> \- Alienage: a place where all the elves in a city live. Very cramped, very bad living conditions.  
> \- Anderfels: I don't even know what country it was based off of.  
> \- Rivain: basically Spain  
> \- The Blight: Think of it as a zombie apocalypse. But with a dragon. And it happens randomly for decades at a time.  
> \- That thing in the sky: The Breach. It spits out demons and other bad things.  
> \- Elfroot: healing herb.  
> \- Abomination: when a mage is possessed by a demon.  
> If I missed one, tell me!


	4. I Need a Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MH-1209 was raised from birth to be the best of the best. However, once he gets his first taste of a _real_ battle, he's stuck wondering what his place is in the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> APPARENTLY THE FIRST TIME I POSTED IT, HALF OF THE CHAPTER GOT CUT OFF. AND I DIDN'T NOTICE UNTIL 10 DAYS LATER. PLEASE KILL ME. BUT THIS IS THE FULL CHAPTER.
> 
> A.K.A I combine my love for SHINee with my love for Star Wars. Literally just a retelling of the first few minutes of TFA. If you've watched the movie, you've read this. 
> 
> I'm my own beta. Done on mobile.

_A credit to the First Order_ is what his superiors called him. _The ideal trooper_ . It’s not hard to see why. He consistently scored in the top 1% across all evaluations, no matter what was thrown at him. Combat simulations were a breeze; he fluidly moved from cover to cover, blasting away holograms of _rebel scum_ with near-perfect accuracy (even he made mistakes, believe it or not). Endurance was no problem. He could keep up with the best of them, barely breaking a sweat. He was everything they wanted. Courageous. Smart. Loyal. Strong. He was MH-1209, handpicked by Captain Phasma to be the best of the best.

And yet...

He couldn’t pull the trigger on those innocent villagers on Jakku. This wasn’t a simulation. He wasn’t shooting at holograms. They were real, flesh and blood, _people_. He looked at MH-0239, otherwise known as Slip, from the corner of his eye and watched as they mowed down the villagers with no hesitation. He knew that if looked underneath that helmet, he would find nothing. No pity, no grief, no anger. Just a blank stare. They were just doing what they were ordered to do.

Slip met that same fate a few minutes later, having been shot by a hidden figure and falling to the floor like a stone in water. He scrambled over to them (he and Slip were friends at one point--or at least as close to friends as you could get) and propped them up on a rock. He was almost tempted to reach out and stroke the side of their helmet, forearm, shoulder, _anything_ to give them some comfort, but instead he watched as their chest moved up and down erratically. His eyes were transfixed on Slip’s trembling right hand as it came up and dragged itself down his helmet, staining his vision with 3 streaks of red.

As if burned, he shot up, breathing heavily as he looked around in terror and confusion. There was a deafening ringing in his ears, and it felt like his cone of vision was gradually shrinking. Bright blue and red lights flew overhead (he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that the Resistance were there as well), reflecting off of his polished helmet as he staggered around, nearly falling when his foot caught on a rock. A fire raged to his right, the thick smoke rising into the air and obscuring the stars. He watched as his fellow stormtroopers brutally snatched up the remaining villagers and grouped them together as if they were cattle.

They were just here for a man named Lor San Tekka. _Lor San Tekka._ Someone who has a map. He didn’t understand why the villagers had to be brought into this. It’s not right. It’s not _fair._

He almost ran, but he knew he wouldn’t make it more than a few steps before one of compatriots gunned him down out of some misplaced sense of honor. So he stayed when his captain ordered him to keep an eye on the rounded up villagers. He stayed and he swallowed his tongue.

He watched as a man with wrinkles lining his face and hair as white as the moon was escorted past him. The man’s hands were cuffed in gold chains and each arm was held tightly by a stormtrooper--the only thing that could free him now was a miracle. He knew right then and there that that man was the one they were looking for.

A ship then arrived, its dying thrusters signalling its landing. A ship that he knew well. A ship that caused him to freeze every time it came around.

_Kylo Ren._

He fidgeted in his spot as the ramp of the ship descended, sand puffing up around it. It’s not that he disliked Kylo. Rather, it was because he was intimidated. The only times he saw Kylo was when he was sweeping the halls of their starcraft, cutting through the crowds like a knife through butter, or when he was leaving a partially destroyed room after one of his more violent temper tantrums.

Kylo approached Tekka and exchanged a few choice words. He noticed the way that Kylo’s entire stance stiffened and how his hands curled when Tekka claimed to have known him from before he was Kylo Ren. Curiosity was awoken from inside him, but he would rather not confront Kylo about his past and get firsthand experience on how it would be like to be choked by the Force.

When it was obvious that Tekka would not give them the map willingly, Kylo pulled out his lightsaber and ignited it, the harsh red burning bright against the black sky. He squinted as he watched Kylo pull it up, _up_ …

...and then brought it down across Tekka’s body.  

He barely had time to gasp before footsteps rapidly approached, their owner yelling and firing a blaster. Kylo quickly stuck his hand out and froze the blue blaster shot in midair. With wide eyes (who in their right mind would shoot at _Kylo Ren_?), MH-1209 traced the blaster shot back to its owner.

It was another man. Younger looking this time. His entire frame was frozen, save for some slight shaking as he attempted to break free of Kylo’s Force grip. He let out involuntary whimpers. Kylo wasn’t known for being gentle with the Force.

A couple of stormtroopers ran up to the man and delivered a swift punch to his gut, causing him to double over and grunt loudly in pain. The stormtroopers dragged him over to Kylo. As they passed the frozen blaster bolt, the man turned his head to stare at it, fear flitting over his face before he put on a mask of indifference.

He looked on as the man received a rough pat down from the two troopers before having his legs kicked out. There was a sort of defiance in his eyes that was burning, rebelling against his instinct to submit when outplayed. He snarked at Kylo, broadcasting that he’s not going down without a fight. Kylo was growing increasingly agitated, and MH-1209 wouldn’t be too surprised if the man’s end was near. However, Kylo must’ve seen something valuable in him as he was instead unceremoniously shoved onboard the spacecraft. The man glanced at him as he was being brought up the ramp, eyes connecting with MH-1209’s for a split second.

It was then that Captain Phasma came, dwarfing even Kylo as her cape billowed in the wind. If he was intimidated by Kylo, he was _terrified_ of Phasma. She was very no-nonsense; you did something right, exactly as she expected it, or you did it over and over again before she declared it satisfactory. She pushed her troopers to the limit, and she was incredibly dedicated to her role and the Order. Phasma was a woman you do _not_ want to cross.

So when Phasma told them to open fire on the remaining villagers, communicating an order from Kylo himself, he should’ve done it, right? Just pull the trigger. Do what he couldn’t do before. Don’t piss off the 2 scariest people in the Order. Just do it, _do it,_ _do it_ \--

He couldn’t do it.

Couldn’t or wouldn’t? Either way, he put his gun down, trying to block out the sounds of lasers burning through flesh and the cries of the innocent. He looked at the ground, refusing to watch as the pile of bodies grew.

The others went to search for anyone that may have been hiding, but he stood still, letting a breath rush out of him. A tingling sensation on the back of his neck caused him to turn around, and what he saw made his heart drop and dread wash over him.

Kylo Ren was staring straight at him with that emotionless mask of his.

 

\---

 

MH-1209 takes deep breaths to calm himself as he walks through the barely-lit halls of _The Finalizer_ (whoever chose that ship name, he thinks, has a flair for the dramatic). His footsteps echo, each one a warning to abandon this foolish little “rescue” unless he wants to be caught and sent into re-education. Yet he presses on, his grip on the barrel of his blaster tightening. This prisoner they got on Jakku could help him escape from this life forever. He knows the prisoner’s part of the Resistance; he saw the patch on their sleeve. He could help them escape and gain a place within the Resistance. His intricate knowledge of the inner workings of the First Order would no doubt be of use, right?

He enters the “interrogation” room (“torture room” would be a far more fitting name) and eyes the prisoner, who definitely looks worse for wear. They’re strapped onto an upright slab of cold metal, dried blood stemming from their temples and the corner of their mouth. Their face and neck are glistening with sweat, shining under the lights. Their inky black hair is disheveled, much like their clothes. But that fire is still in their eyes. They look at him with contempt.

“Ren wants the prisoner,” he says, feeling bold as he lies. The prisoner stiffens, and he knows that they’re expecting the worst. Public execution, maybe? That’d be quite the show of dominance over the Resistance.

The prisoner is released, their legs nearly turning into jello as they land on the floor. He slaps a pair of cuffs on them, gripping their arm, and jabbing the end of his blaster into their ribs, forcing them forward. He’s not too fond of treating them this way, but any other way would arouse suspicion. He walks briskly, avoiding eye contact and any attempts to talk to him. Thankfully, the prisoner doesn’t try to escape.

He then walks them into a narrow passageway, away from the prying eyes of others. “I can get you out of here,” he says, whispering through his helmet. “Just listen to what I tell you to do.” He doesn’t notice that he’s gripping onto the prisoner’s sleeves until they look down at his hands and then up at him, utterly confused.

“You--what?” Their voice is shot, and they sound distrusting, curious, and hopeful all at once.

He takes off his helmet, hoping that would humanize himself to the prisoner, make him seem more trusting. “I’m rescuing you. I’m helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?”

“Are you with the Resistance--?” they start to ask before he cuts them off.

“ _What_? No! I’m breaking you out,” he clarifies. How would a Resistance member infiltrate the First Order anyway? “Can you fly a TIE fighter--?!”

“I can fly _anything_ ,” they say, sounding confident in their skills as they stare him down. A pause for a moment, and then: “Why are you helping me?” Their brows furrow.

He thinks for a moment, the gears in his head turning as he comes up with the most suitable answer, the one that would garner him sympathy. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

The prisoner looks at him, mouth slightly agape. “You need a pilot,” they deadpan, looking straight through his charade.

“I need a pilot,” he admits, exasperated.

The prisoner starts to smile, and he has to admit it looks good on them. “Then let’s do this.”

“Yeah?”

 

\---

 

The docking bay is emptier than it usually is. Some of the mechanics are working on upgrading some of the older spacecraft, while others are focusing on repairing some shot astromechs. There’s a few guards stationed in strategic areas, and some officers are there to oversee the entire operation. However, they all seem too busy to notice how unusual it is for only a single stormtrooper to be an escort.

The prisoner is back in their cuffs, glaring at a couple of stormtroopers walking past them. Their feet shuffle along the floor. “Stay calm, stay calm,” MH-1209 whispers, his blaster back to pointing at the prisoner’s side.

“I am calm,” they mutter.

“...I’m talking to myself,” he admits. The prisoner’s shoulders shake slightly and he knows that they’re laughing at him. He frowns, although he knows they won’t be able to see it.

A large group files past them, the officer quickly nodding at him. He takes a quick cursory glance around the docking bay. No one is paying attention to them, and that group took out most of the stormtroopers in the bay. “Okay, go,” he says as he tilts his head towards a wall loaded with TIE fighters. “This way!”

The prisoner follows behind him as they board the fighter. He notices the prisoner wince as they sit down, and he can’t help but feel sorry for them.

“I’m fine,” they reply, their voice strained but with an edge. He decides not to question them further. They begin to start up the fighter, flicking various switches at the top and pressing the different colored buttons on the dashboard. “I’ve always wanted to fly one of these things,” they say, sounding like a child in a candy store. “Can you shoot?”

He looks down at the joysticks that managed to find themselves in his hands and a small targeting screen situated across from him. He rotates the joysticks. “I’ve only trained with blasters!” He was never meant for dogfights. The Order wanted him on the ground.

“Same principle,” they reply. They look back at him, turning around in their seat and looking over the different features. “Use the toggle on the left to switch between missiles, cannons, and mag pulse--” they turn back around-- “sight on the right to aim, and the triggers to fire!”

“This is very complicated,” he says to himself as the TIE fighter roars to life and surges forward towards freedom.

Then comes the panic as they are suddenly jolted back. A cable is attached to one wing of the fighter, and there’s no way to take off with it still connected. “I can fix this!” the prisoner says, although it sounds more like a self-reassurance rather than something he was supposed to hear.

His eyes go wide as he watches stormtroopers pour out into the docking bay. He knows they were alerted. If they don’t get out of there soon, General Hux will arrive and re-education would be the least of his problems. The stormtroopers start to set up the megablasters while others start to open fire.

He bites his lip as he aims the ship’s guns and pulls the triggers. A sense of satisfaction washes over him as he watches the docking bay explode into a shower of sparks as he fends off the others, taking out groups of stormtroopers and disabling megablasters. He eyes the window of the control room, swivelling the guns towards it. He shoots, watching as it shatters and the interior turns a fiery orange.

“I got it!” the prisoner shouts in glee as the cables detach and they zoom out of the docking bay.

It’s exhilarating. Addicting. It’s the most dangerous thing he’s ever done.

“This thing really moves!” the prisoner says. “Alright, we have to take out as many cannons as we can, otherwise we’ll end up floating out of here! I’ll get us in position. Stay sharp!”

The fighter starts to arc back towards the ship they were trying to escape and flies along the underside. “Up ahead! Up ahead, do you see it?” the prisoner asks. “I’ve got us _dead center._ It’s a clean shot!”

He nods, adjusting his grip on the sticks. Either he makes this shot or they’re _screwed._ A frantic beeping from the aiming computer alerts him that they’re locked on. He flips the toggle for missiles, fires, and--

 

\-- ** _BOOM!_ **

 

The fighter slices through the debris of the cannon and all he can see for a moment are oranges and reds pressing up against the window. “Did you see that?!” he yells, more excited than that one time he managed to take the number 1 spot on a particularly hard simulation. “Did you see _that_?!” He feels confident enough to take on the entire First Order right now.

“I saw it!” the prisoner yells back. “Hey, what’s your name?” they ask.

“MH-1209!” he responds.

“MH-- _what_?” the prisoner looks back, face a mix of concern and curiosity.

“That’s the only name they ever gave me!” he explains. He was taken from his parents as a young child, and he never knew his real name. All he got was a designation and some numbers.

“MH, huh? I’m not calling you that! Minho. I’ll call you Minho instead! That alright?” the prisoner--now the person who named him--asks.

Minho feels like it doesn’t really matter what his answer is, the prisoner’ll just call him that anyway (speaking of names, he really needs to find out theirs. He can’t just refer to them as “the prisoner” the entire time). But he likes the name anyway. _Minho_. It rolls off the tongue. “Yeah! Yeah, I like that!” He can’t suppress his smile as it spreads across his face.

“My name’s Kibum,” the prisoner-- _Kibum_ \--says. “Kibum Kim!”

“Good to meet you, Kibum!”

“Good to meet you too, Minho!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-write of Blue Shell will be up eventually...


	5. Can I Get Your Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The barista gets his name wrong, but he doesn't really mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, it's been a while. Here's something I wrote a few months ago. As always, all done on mobile, and my beta is myself.

Minho sits in a little booth at the back of a cozy café, the lightbulb above washing him in a soft orange hue. He rests his chin on his hand, watching all the different people. Some are sitting with friends, chatting happily, while some are alone, the blue of their phone’s screen reflecting on their features. Some seem to be in a rush--business people, judging by their suits--while some are taking their sweet time. He taps the fingers of his free hand idly on the table, waiting for his order to be fulfilled.

“Jinho!” a voice calls out. Minho’s fingers stop, and his head snaps to the pick-up section. There’s that cute blond barista, smiling at him and waving him over. He nods, smiling back, and gets up to walk over and pick up his near daily order of hot chocolate. Jinho… he’s been called that ever since he started to frequent the café 5 months ago, and he never had the heart to correct the barista.

He wraps his hand around the cup, enjoying the warmth that spreads throughout his fingers. “Thanks, Kibum,” he says. At least he’ll get the barista’s name right.

“It’s no problem,” Kibum replies. “Enjoy it. I put a lot of effort into it.”

Minho laughs. It comes easy. “I will.” He walks back to his seat, taking an experimental sip and sighing in contentment as the warmth goes from his fingers to the core of his body. The whipped cream seems extra fluffy today, and the cocoa powder topping in the shape of a heart is ever present. He turns the cup around in his hands, looking down at the characters that spell out “Jinho” (with a little smiley face next to them). Maybe he’ll tell Kibum his actual name one day… one day.

 

* * *

 

Jinki’s been bothering him to take him to “that café you never shut up about,” so here he is. He leads Jinki to his usual booth and lets Jinki slide into his side first. “Recommend anything?” Jinki asks as he squints, trying to read the chalkboard menu standing a few feet away.

Minho hums. “The matcha latté wasn’t too bad when I tried it. And their chocolate croissants are godly,” he says.

Jinki whistles lowly. “High praise coming from you… definitely trying out those croissants, though. Wanna see if they live up to the hype. And maybe a… hot chocolate?”

Minho shoots him a thumbs up as he gets up and walks over to order. “Kibum,” he greets, flashing a warm smile.

“Jinho,” Kibum says backs. “It’s surprising, seeing you with someone,” he teases, a small smirk coming up on his face.

Minho playfully scoffs. “He kept bothering--asking--me to take him here,” he says, “and I relented.”

“Why? Wanted to keep this place as your little secret?”

Minho tilts his head slightly to the right. “Maybe.” He sees Kibum flush under the lights, but chooses not to say anything. “But, he’ll have a hot chocolate. I want a… caramel macchiato. And 2 chocolate croissants. He needs to know the taste of heaven.”

“Ah-ah, keep saying those things about my croissants and you’ll just inflate my ego,” Kibum jokes as he punches in the prices in the register. “But, tell you what. I’ll give you a 2-for-1 discount, okay? Don’t tell anyone.” Kibum winks at him. His mother always told him compliments would get him far.

He pays with cash as he always does, then allows Kibum to shoo him away so he can tend to his order.

Minho walks back to the table, and it isn’t until he sits down that he realizes he’s had a goofy smile plastered on his face. “You know, I’m starting to think you like this place for different reasons,” Jinki says as he glances at Kibum.

“Well, he’s-... he’s a nice guy.”

“And a cutie.” Jinki wiggles his eyebrows.

Minho weakly kicks his shin under the table as protest,   
rolling his eyes as Jinki lets out an exaggerated “ouch!”

They settle into a comfortable conversation. Jinki seems to forget about Kibum as he grills Minho with questions about how his studies are going, with Minho responding in kind.

“Jinho!” comes the all too familiar voice. He notices Jinki’s quizzical look as he goes to pick up the order. As he approaches, he notices that Kibum seems to be fidgeting more than usual.

“Smells delicious, as always,” Minho says, placing both of his hands on the counter. Kibum smiles at him weakly. “...Are you okay?” he whispers, leaning in a bit to ask.

Kibum shakes his head, seeming to snap himself out of a reverie. “Yeah, I just… is that your boyfriend?”

Minho lets out a bark of laughter, and he almost feels sorry with how offended-slash-hurt Kibum seems to be, with his pouting lips. “No, god no. Jinki’s just a friend. Why?”

“Because--I was wondering--” Kibum cuts himself off his a sigh and runs his fingers through his hair-- “this is probably some gigantic breach in customer etiquette, but I was wondering if--”

“Minho?” Jinki’s voice rings out as he somehow found a way to stand besides him. “What’s taking so long?”

Kibum’s eyes go wide. “M-Minho?”

Minho closes his eyes and, god, he would not complain if the earth decided to open up and swallow him right then and there. When he opens them back up, he sees a flushed red Kibum. “That’s, uh… that’s my name.”

“Oh,” is all that Kibum manages to get out. Then he speaks up again. “I’ve been… Jinho… I am so fucking sorry, oh my god,” Kibum mumbles, seeming truly embarrassed. Jinki seems to shrink away, looking apologetic.

“It’s fine. It’s my fault. I should’ve corrected you the first time, really.”

“Why didn’t you?” Kibum asks, looking at Minho, arms crossed.

“...Because you were cute and I didn’t have the heart to tell you that you were wrong?” Minho offers. He hears Jinki snort in the background.

“Would’ve saved me some embarrassment,” Kibum says, looking away from him. “But I’m cute, huh?”

Minho smiles sheepishly. “Yeah. I mean, I guess? You’re cute to me.”

“So if I were to ask you to dinner, you wouldn’t say no?” Kibum raises an eyebrow.

“No--I mean--what?” He blinks in rapid succession. “Dinner? With me?”

Kibum nods slowly.

“Yeah! That’d be great. I’d enjoy that. A lot.” Minho full-out grins, looking happier than a dog with a bone.

“Alright, my break’s in a few minutes. I’ll give you my number then.” Kibum then pushes the tray a bit closer to him. “You should go back now. Your food’s getting cold… Minho.” 


	6. Have A Secret?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho is a superhero. That's cool. Minho also has a beautiful boyfriend who _doesn't_ know he's a superhero. That's less cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Superhero!AU! Which means a lot of hand-wavy science, tactics, physics, and everything! Please don't look at it too hard. It'll fall apart. This is a bit tongue-in-cheek, too. Don't take it too seriously.
> 
> As always, done on mobile with me being my own beta.

“Do you _have_ to go?” Kibum asks him softly, sitting on the edge of their shared bed. Kibum’s still in his pajamas which consist of a well-worn Midtown High t-shirt that used to belong to Minho and a pair of cacti-patterned boxers. It’s quite a contrast to Minho’s fine black slacks and pure white button-down, accentuated with a maroon tie.

“They need me,” he replies, looking at himself in the mirror. He holds out his arms and twists his upper body, making sure that he tucked in every spot. Kibum’s gaze is borrowing into his back.

“I need you too.” It’s small.

And god, does it break Minho’s heart. He sighs and looks down before turning to look Kibum. “I’m sorry. The boss has been a stubborn bastard lately; he won’t take it easy on me.”

“Language,” Kibum chuckles, and it makes Minho smile. He reaches for the cologne that Kibum bought him for his birthday when he hears Kibum take a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?”

He spritzes the cologne on his wrists. “You can ask me anything.” A dab behind both ears.

“You’re never-- I-- I’m not doing anything wrong, am I?” Minho nearly drops the bottle as he puts it back. “It’s just that… you’re always out, and I know work is busy, but I still can’t help but to feel… feel like you’re avoiding me.”

He turns around quickly. So quickly that the tip of his tie ends up draped over his shoulder. He supposes he would find it funny if Kibum weren’t currently staring down at the floor, worrying his bottom lip. It’s a valid fear. How long has it been since it was just him and Kibum? How many times has he had to skip out on a date since work called him in? How many times has he had to leave in the middle of a cuddle session because his phone rang? Hell, he couldn’t even make it to that nice steak dinner on their _3 year_ anniversary because some annoying-as-hell wannabe supervillain started terrorizing Jackson Heights in Queens.

Yeah. Supervillain. Maybe Minho has neglected to tell Kibum one very important fact about his job: the fact that he, Minho, is the superhero better known as Spitfire (PR team decided on it, not him). Not that he _actually_ spit fire, but more like he was fast as shit and could shoot fire hotter than hell out of his hands. You know. Like a normal person.

It’s a hard thing to hide. Most of the time he would get medical attention in their organization’s 100-years-into-the-future (or so it seemed) technologically advanced medical bay. Sometimes, he wasn’t as lucky and had to settle for coming home with ribs that ached with every breath and a pounding in his head making it seem like a rave was happening in there. Cuts and gashes were carefully taken care of in the bathroom under the pretense of a long shower with the antiseptic and rolls of gauze that are stashed in a cabinet underneath the sink. He once made the mistake of not covering up properly, placing a particularly nasty cut on display. Said there was an attempted mugging, but he’s fine, Bummie, really. Kibum’s eyes shone that night with unshed tears of worry, and Minho wanted to make sure he _never_ saw that image again.

Calls to assemble (a phrase which Minho finds strikingly familiar) were played off as emergencies at the office. “Something that could make the stock drop 15 points,” he would say. Kibum would wince at that, shoo’ing Minho away to go “save the day” (if only he knew). Intranational outings (he refused to leave the U.S.) were disguised as business trips. But he knew Kibum was smart. Perceptive. It’s one of the reasons why he loved him, after all. He knew Kibum didn’t buy his excuses, but Minho thinks that maybe Kibum _wants_ to believe that Minho really has an emergency instead of some other, less desirable thought (which he obviously was having now).

Because here he was again, about to leave their little apartment in Manhattan, for some bullshit about “team-building exercises.”

He takes 2 long steps before kneeling in front of Kibum, framing his face with both of his hands. “No, Kibummie, no. How could you even think that?” He places his mouth on the crown of Kibum’s head in a mock kiss. “Tell you what, after this, I’m gonna ask my boss for a long vacation. 2 weeks. God knows I’ve earned it. And we can do whatever you want,” he whispers soothingly.

  
Kibum grasps his wrists gently. “Roosevelt Island. I wanna go on the tram.”

Minho’s eyebrows furrow. “The tram? Nothing more… ambitious?”

“It’s got a nice view!” Kibum protests, drawing a laugh from deep inside Minho’s chest. “Then afterwards we can eat there. Heard there’s an Italian place with good fettuccine.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says before pressing a soft kiss on Kibum’s forehead. “I’ll be back, baby. Before you know it.”

 

* * *

 

Minho rips the cowl off of his head, scowling down at the deep, lava red of the fire symbol in the middle of the forehead. The cowl itself is made of a strong, fire-resistant black material. He isn’t too sure it would stop a bullet, but it certainly would keep his head from acquiring any more gashes than it needs.

When they called him down here for team-building exercises, he expected something like working on communication or doing some trust falls. He was not expecting them to shove them into the combat simulator and crank it up to the highest difficulty.

The pain goes away the second they turn off the simulator, but that doesn’t mean they can’t _feel_ it. Because that robotic arm that slammed into his chest felt _very_ real.

“I’m surprised it was even able to hit you,” Taemin says from besides him, water bottle in hand, and that’s when he realized he said all of that out loud. Taemin was otherwise known as Horizon, being able to disappear whenever needed and reappear when convenient.

“Lucky strike,” Minho mutters. He mulls over a question he's had in his head for a while before deciding, _fuck it_ , and asks. “Does your girlfriend know who you are?” They’ve known each other for a while, so Minho feels like he can ask that.

Taemin chokes on his water. “What kind of question is that? You know we can’t tell anyone our identities!”

“Does she know?” he asks again, more insistent this time.

Taemin sucks in a breath before looking around the room, eyeing a camera on the far side of the room. Making himself invisible would be too obvious, so he decides to lean closer, turning his back to the camera. He makes it seem like he’s showing Minho something, bringing one arm up around Minho’s shoulder. “She knows.”

“Was she angry when she found out?”

Taemin shakes his head before pretending to point at something between them. “No. If anything, she just became more worried and… naggy,” he laughs, showing that he really didn't mind. “Why?”

“I haven’t told my boyfriend yet,” he replies, head hanging low.

Taemin clicks his tongue. “You’re gonna have to tell him. I know they say not to let others know but… you guys have been together nearly 4 years, right? He’s just gonna get angry if he finds it out for himself.” He claps Minho between his shoulder blades. “Maybe tell him over dessert. Hard to be angry when--”

_**BEEP! BEEP!** _

The lights in the simulation room dim save for 4 flashing red lights bolted onto the walls.

“Shit!” Taemin curses as he jumps away from Minho. “Get that mask of yours on, Quicksilver, it’s time for a show!”

Taemin disappears--as he does--leaving Minho to grumble about how he is so much _better_ than Quicksilver before putting his cowl back on.

 

* * *

 

Times Square. It’s always Times Square. It can never be some corn field in Wyoming or an abandoned farm in North Dakota. They’ve always gonna go big. Always gotta do it at night, too. It probably has something to do with bigger crowd equals more fear equals bigger ego boost, blah blah.

He jumps off of the jet, adjusting the comm piece buried in his cowl. The whir of the engines makes it hard to hear, the wind threatening to blow him away.

Jinki (also known as Angel, what with his power of supersonic flight and all), descends next to him, having flown next to the jet rather than inside it. Taemin appears in front of him with a snap of his fingers, nearly giving him a heart attack. Jonghyun (known as Equinox, being able to literally control light) is the last to get off, giving them all smiles of reassurance before making a blade of light appear in his hand.

In front of them, the action’s already happening. Some asshole with electric powers is cackling madly as he floats above a crowd of screaming, sobbing people. His hands are crackling with electricity, small wisps of blue light licking up his forearms. The police are attempting to tell everyone where to go, whistles in their mouths and hands moving frantically.

With a clench of his fist, said asshole causes nearly every electric billboard to shatter and spark. Boy, that’s gonna cost some money to replace.

“Taemin, distract him!” Minho finds himself shouting out. Taemin nods before disappearing and, presumably running off. “Jonghyun, shoot at him in his forward arc, move as much as you can.” In a split second, the blade in Jonghyun’s hand turns into a bow, complete with a bottomless quiver strapped on his back. “Jinki, you can take him from above. Do those dive kicks you’re so fond of.” Jinki smiles at him before soaring into the air, flying towards the menace. He watches the 3 of them (or 2 of them; he has no idea where Taemin is) run off with hands on his hips, feeling proud.

“ _Hurry up_ , Spitfire!” he hears Jonghyun say over the comms. “Isn’t your power super speed?” he teases.

“And fire. Don’t forget the fire,” Minho says back before running into the fray. “It’s in the name.”

He swears he can hear Jonghyun roll his eyes.

“He’s not as fast as Quicksilver!” Taemin says as he appears a few feet away from the man. “Hey, over here, asshole!” Minho watches as the man snarls and attempts to hurl a ball of electricity at Taemin, who has by that time disappeared.

Jonghyun’s arrows go flying, only to be stopped by some sort of barrier surrounding the man, blue surrounding the area where it should have hit. He looks honestly confused. “I can’t get through it!”

“Me neither!” Minho looks up to where Jinki is swooping down, every kick bouncing off that same barrier.

Minho tries with a stream of fire. Same result. “This is gonna take a while, isn't it?” he sighs. These are always the worst. Always the ones that leave him with the most injuries. He shifts his feet, starting his stream again with renewed vigor.

“You are quite right, I’m afraid,” the man chuckles, voice deep and smooth. “Soon, the world will know the might of Proton!”

“...Proton?” Taemin repeats, disbelief in his voice. Minho can’t help but to crack a smirk. “We’re stumped by some guy named Proton? Might as well call yourself Electro or-- _ugh_!” Minho’s eyes go wide as he hears Taemin grunt, followed by a thud.

He frantically scans the area, briefly stopping his stream of fire.

His heart drops when he sees Taemin on the ground, unmoving.

“You all will learn some _respect_!” the man--Proton--bellows, his electricity brightening to near white.

“Respect this!” Jonghyun yells, 5 arrows lined up in his bow. He releases.

The arrows are stopped in the air, then flung back at Jonghyun, who barely manages to roll away. God, there’s still people trying to get away, and they’re already down 1 person. The stream continues. He’s burning a little hotter now.

While Jonghyun is still getting back up to his feet, Proton is already producing electric bolts.

“Jonghyun, watch out!” Jinki shouts, voice absolutely drenched in alarm.

All Jonghyun could do was watch as the bolts headed towards him before being hit thrice, falling on his back. The bow and quiver flicker out of existence.

“No!” Jinki says before flying as high as he can.

Minho knows what he’s gonna do, and it’s time that he changed his own tactics. He stops the stream of fire before getting into a running position--

\--and then taking off.

As much as he hates to admit it, he really _isn’t_ as fast as Quicksilver, but he’s fast enough to probably give the guy a headache. He throws fireballs, big ones, small ones, some as big as his head. He knows they won’t do much, but they’ll be a distraction.

Then he sees as Jinki starts to descend from the sky, on leg pointing down while the other is lifted up, forming a P. He’s going fast. Incredibly fast. Wind streaks form around his outstretched leg. That move usually ended battles, no matter how powerful the enemy, at the cost of tiring Jinki out to the point where he passes out right after.

Except…

Except Proton grabs Jinki’s leg. Minho nearly stops. He can practically hear Jinki’s heart pounding from there.

Proton flings him. Flings him far. He sails over the head of a couple of middle school students and into a shop.

“Only you left?” Proton mocks. “I must admit, I expected a _challenge_ ,” Proton growls as he descends to the floor.

Minho furrows his brow, not giving the douchebag the satisfaction of an answer, before pushing himself to pump his legs faster. If he builds up enough speed, he could probably disorient the guy enough to the point where there’s an opening in his barrier.

It’s what he’s counting on. At least, until a giant ball of electricity suddenly appears right in front of him and he can’t even _breathe_ before he flies back, knocked to his ass and groaning in pain.

He feels something restrain him, then looks down to see a rope of electricity around him. “It won’t harm you,” Proton says. “Just, how do you say… put you out of commission. Consider yourself lucky. You can watch!” Proton says the last part with some sort of giddy glee, and Minho can’t help but think that this guy _really_ needs to be punched.

Luckily, most of the people are gone. All that’s left are a few small groups being escorted by a police officer. “Let’s see… who shall I take first?” Proton says. “Ah. _Him_.”

A whip appears in Proton’s hand. He snaps it, and it wraps around the chest of the man he was aiming for. The group that he was in scatters, screaming.

“No, no, no, _no_!” The man sobs as he’s dragged towards Proton. “Let me go, let me go, _please_.”

Minho realizes something, eyes widening in fear and panic.

He knows that voice.

 _Kibum_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol :)


	7. Have A Secret? Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kibum finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still love SHINee, but I've fallen out of writing for them. I don't know if I'll ever come back, but I didn't want to leave you guys off at a cliffhanger before I left. 
> 
> I'm sorry if this rather short conclusion isn't to your pleasure. Thank you so much for the kind and wonderful comments you guys have left me!!! Catch you on the flipside.

“He’ll be the first of many,” Proton sneers as he brings a struggling Kibum closer to him, another tendril of electricity ruffling Kibum’s hair.

And something, _something_ in him snaps. Something in him burns. And he feels it. Fury, fear, regret, panic, _everything_. The restrains keeping him back vanish. Disappear. He burns them off in a fuel of rage.

Proton, it seems, doesn’t expect that, staring at Minho dumbly with his mouth agape and eyes bulging. Minho takes that chance to run towards him and dropkick him in the stomach, forcing him to throw Kibum on the floor as the sheer force of Minho’s legs break through his barrier, a wheeze passing through his lips

Proton falls on his back, gasping for air as he rolls from side-to-side. Minho stares down at the man's writhing form, a sense of righteous justice flowing through his veins as his hands clenched at his sides.

" _Jesus_ , Minho," Jonghyun's half-awed half-shocked voice comes from in front of him. Minho looks up at him and then at Taemin, who seems to be supporting the other, eyebrows furrowed. He doesn't miss the way Jonghyun balks; he must look downright _murderous_ right now.

Taemin winces. "You're a bit..." he makes a circling motion around his eyes. Minho knows what he's talking about. His eyes tend to get a bit... red when he was angry.

" _Minho_?" Kibum weakly says from his spot on the ground, causing Minho's attention to immediately snap to him. He's on his knees, his hands supporting him. One of Minho's hoodies hangs loosely on his frame.

"We'll keep him down," Jonghyun assures as he creates a rope of hard light in his hands. "You have some 'splainin' to do." Taemin snorts.

All of the fire in Minho's eyes extinguishes as he kneels in front of Kibum and cups Kibum's face with both of his hands, his right thumb stroking across Kibum's cheekbone gently. "Are you okay?" he asks, voice tinged with a sort of fondness he only reserves for Kibum.

(Jinki arrives at this point, stumbling around due to his injury. He decides not to interrupt the moment.)

"Oh my _god_ ," Kibum breathes out, hands shooting to grip at Minho's forearms. "It really is you. I'd recognize-- I'd recognize that voice anywhere. All those business trips..."

Minho smiles sheepishly. "Surprise?"

Kibum frowns. "This is the worst surprise ever."

Minho cringes, releasing Kibum's face. He places his now fisted hands on the top of his lap, ready for the inevitable break-up talk. The velvet box he hid in their closet comes to mind.

He's surprised, of course, when Kibum surges forward to envelop him in a hug and bury his face in Minho's shoulder. "Idiot," Kibum says, muffled, "I would watch you guys fight on the news, not knowing that it was you. Sometimes I'd feel worried for any significant others you guys had, wondered how they dealt with loving someone who's in danger like, all the time. I didn't realize that one of the people I would be worried for would be _myself_."

After getting over his own initial shock, Minho wraps his arms around the small of Kibum's back, placing a soft kiss on top of his head. "You're not mad?"

Kibum withdraws from his shoulder and stares him down. He averts his gaze. He was never good at dealing with Kibum's icy-cool glares. "Oh no, Choi Minho, I am mad that you keep throwing yourself into danger all willy-nilly--"

"I have _superpowers_ , Kibum--"

"--but right now I'm mostly glad you're okay." Kibum smiles at him and pecks him quickly on the corner of his mouth. Then Kibum's expression turns into one of realization. "Oh my god, we're like Quicksilver and Crystal."

"But I'm so much _better_ than Quicksilver," Minho protests.

"No you're not!" Taemin yells in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minho proposes and Kibum says yes and Jonghyun and Taemin cry at the wedding. Jinki laughs at them while eating cake.
> 
> Also I'm 100% sure electricity doesn't work like that but it's comic book science.


End file.
